Rosy Skies
by Joelsweet
Summary: When Prince Yuri goes down from his mountain home to the ocean as a coming-of-age ritual, he rescues a merman from a pair of poachers. As time passes, he finds that he can't get the merman out of his mind and he ends up making a rather rash decision. (Reverse Little Mermaid Au)
1. Chapter 1

Curled up in bed, Yuri listened intently as Viktor animatedly recounted his trips out to sea. At five years old, Yuri still had another thirteen years ahead of him before he would even be allowed to venture out to the beach. He was bursting with excitement, hardly able to contain himself. How on earth could he be expected to wait that long? He wished that he could just be all grown up already so that he could experience the ocean for himself.

For the time being, however, he would simply have to make do with his cousin's vivid descriptions.

Yuri could glimpse the glittering water through his window, but he had never stood on the actual shore. He oftentimes let his imagination run wild, picturing what types of creatures might flourish in the ocean's depths. He frequently ate fish, so that part wasn't too difficult, but Viktor spoke of beasts with eight arms that had suction cups on them! Yuri was in awe. How could such a creature exist?

Viktor also told him about aquatic plants with wavy tentacles, giant fish with sharp teeth, and colorful slugs that inched over the frilly reef. What intrigued him the most, however, were the tales of the merpeople; Yuri liked to picture what it would be like to swim among them underneath the glittering waves.

As much as Yuri loved hearing his cousin's stories, his eyes were slowly sliding shut. Viktor's words gradually came to a gentle halt. The last thing that Yuri felt before he drifted off was a soft kiss pressed onto his forehead.

"Goodnight, Yuratchka."

By the time Yuri was around twelve years old, he had slowly become withdrawn. He hid his loneliness with a brash exterior. The only people that he confided in were Viktor and his beloved grandfather. They seemed to be the only ones that could empathize with what the weight of royal responsibilities on someone's shoulders felt like.

Yuri was expected to be the next king, but he had no desire to be a leader.

"Just let Viktor be king," Yuri would grumble, always prompting firm lectures from his grandfather about how the monarchical system worked. Because Viktor was Yuri's cousin on the other side of his family, he would only ascend to the throne if both Plisetskys died.

Which was a shame, because the pressure of ruling a country was the last thing that Yuri wanted.

The only time that he was able to find some peace was when he was in his garden. Although he would never admit it out loud, he loved his little plants. Every day they seemed to grow stronger and taller, extending towards the azure sky like they were reaching up to heaven.

A little stream cut through the land, and a weeping willow hung over it like a guardian. Its peridot tendrils brushed against the water, and the current tugged at them tenderly. In the shade cast by the tree, tiny daisies poked out of the grass.

Along the creek, amethyst-hued irises gently swayed in the breeze. Patches of sapphire and diamond chamomile looked up at the sun with their little yellow heads. An arch stretched over the stone pathway leading down from the palace, and ruby-colored roses twined up it.

Yuri spent hours there, sometimes from dawn until dusk. He would gladly kneel in the dirt, even if it was sweltering, and lovingly tend to his flowers. He yanked up weeds that threatened to strangle his plants, and nourished them with fertilizer and water. Sometimes he sat on the bank and cooled his feet in the stream while reading a book.

"Your skin's going to tan and you'll look like a commoner!" people always berated him. Yuri didn't care in the slightest. In fact, he would often intentionally position himself in direct sunlight to spite them. Little freckles dusted his face like stars, garnering strange looks in court. They didn't seem to appreciate the poetry held in them.

Every other aspect of his life was controlled, so if this was what freedom cost, he was going to have as many damn spots as he pleased. All of the rules and regulations that he was supposed to adhere to were stifling, threatening to snuff out his light of individuality and choke him to death.

Still, he tried his very best to rebel against what was expected of him. Instead of putting on the elaborate and pinchy footwear that was fashionable, he went barefoot as much as possible. Grime frequently smudged his hands and cheeks, and his torn clothing bore fresh grass stains. Instead of being neatly trimmed at his hips like Viktor's was, Yuri's hair hung to his thighs and was still growing.

However, just because Yuri refused to cut it didn't mean he wouldn't complain about how tangled it got on his adventures on the grounds. Taking pity on him, Viktor spent many a night working a comb through all of the knots in his cousin's golden hair. As he did so, he would sing lullabies or tell stories about the ocean.

Over the years, Yuri's curiosity about the sea had diminished. After all, why would he want to go down to the beach when he could be spending time in his garden? He mostly brushed aside the strange tug that he felt occasionally when he'd see the water from his bedroom window. It was inconsequential, he told himself. Like it or not, his fate was laid out before him. He would become the king, even if he didn't want to.

Viktor gradually spent less and less time with Yuri, and by the time Yuri was fifteen, the storytelling had ceased altogether. He wondered if his cousin, who he'd regarded as a brother, simply didn't like him any longer. Eventually his sense of longing for the way things used to be hardened into a sense of bitterness and betrayal. Whenever he saw Viktor walking in his direction, he would glare at the floor and ignore him.

Yuri suspected that Viktor was seeing some lady, and was opting to spend time with her instead. He found himself hating her, despite the fact that they'd never met. It was obvious that Viktor didn't care about him anymore.

On Yuri's sixteenth birthday, Viktor didn't even stop by to say hello. A servant did deliver a small package and an envelope, but Yuri didn't open either of them.

Instead, he slumped onto his bed and petted his cat. Left alone with his thoughts, his mind wandered to the pressures of what being king would be like. Clenching the sheets in his fists, his anxiety mounted. Stressed, he pulled the covers around himself and fell asleep, tossing and turning the whole night.

The next morning, Yuri was informed by a frantic servant that Viktor had eloped. With a man. The minute he found out, Yuri fled to his room and tore the letter open. He felt his heart tear in half at the same time as the blue wax seal.

The letter was a goodbye.

Infuriated, Yuri crumpled the parchment into a ball and threw it across the room. 'Trust Viktor to not think things all the way through,' he thought, eyes brimming with furious tears. He wept for hours, until his ducts ran dry. His eyes were incredibly sore and puffy. He collapsed onto his canopy bed, stomach and chest aching, and fell into a deep sleep. He was completely drained of energy.

The next year dragged by terribly. Viktor sent him an unmarked letter now and then, but Yuri refused to read any of them. How could he just leave him like that, without any warning? How could he let Yuri lose one of the only two people that he actually loved and trusted?

Seventeen-year-old Yuri was even more reclusive than his sixteen-year-old self had been. He had always been slender, but he soon grew sickly thin. He just didn't feel motivated to eat, although his grandfather begged him to do so.

To make matters worse, Nikolai Plisetsky's own health was steadily failing. It seemed that age was finally catching up to him. Whether it was his trembling hands, his incessant coughing, or his stumbling steps, it was an unspoken truth that his time was slowly running out. The grains of sand in his hourglass continued to slip.

Yuri felt helpless. It was as if he were drowning in everything that he was expected to live up to, and he just needed someone to throw him a rope.

Nobody did, although his grandfather tried.

Hope you like this so far! It's done, so I'll post the rest if people show interest. 3


	2. Chapter 2

By the time he was eighteen, Yuri had nearly forgotten about the coming-of-age rite of passage entirely. It was just another tedious task to cross off of the list of things he was obligated to do. As Nikolai prepared him, Yuri asked for the dozenth time if he really had to go. He just didn't see a point.

His grandfather sighed.

"It's a tradition as old as our country itself, and will help you gain some perspective," he told Yuri firmly, but lovingly. Yuri scowled, but bit his tongue. He would endure this for his grandfather's sake.

A crown of woven daffodils, chamomile, and sunflowers was placed on his head, the yellows complimenting his flaxen locks. His hair was plaited into a complicated array of braids, some curving over his head and others looping under his ears. They were many different types; a few fishtail, a few with five strands, and a few with four. The braids were pulled into a twisted bun in the back, held in place with a wooden pin, and then tumbled down around Yuri's shoulders. The lower half of his hair was left loose, falling to his knees in soft blonde waves.

Wearing fur-lined clothes, he was prepared to face the sea winds and the cold night air of March. His cloak was embroidered with golden flowers, vines, and flowing shapes; it reminded him of his precious garden, where he would much rather be spending his birthday.

Nikolai took his arm and guided him to a rarely-used side door in the castle so that he could leave without notice. This was a journey meant to be undertaken alone. The king placed a kiss onto his dear grandson's forehead and squeezed his hand before letting go. Yuri thought he might have seen a proud tear glistening in his grandfather's eye as he turned to leave.

He pulled his hood over his head as soon as he was out of sight, and he wrapped his heavy robes more tightly around his body.

The path down to the shore was long, steep, and winding, and Yuri couldn't entirely see his feet because the branches above him were blocking out the moonlight. He kept tripping over rocks and roots and the trailing hems of his own ostentatious garments, mumbling obscenities every time he did.

Crickets loudly chirped their songs, making their presence known even though they couldn't be seen. Yuri jumped when he heard an owl hoot somewhere behind him. He turned around and glared into the darkness; he could have sworn he heard a wolf howl as well, and he hoped that he had been mistaken. The wind shifted the trees, and it sounded as if they were whispering to each other.

Just when he thought that the trail would never end, Yuri found that the forest was growing sparser. The terrain declined sharply, carving a crude path down the cliff. Carefully, he edged his way down. His boots offered some traction along the loose earth, but he kept slipping and having to grab branches to not plummet down. He ruefully felt a flash of pity for whoever had to launder his clothing after this escapade.

With a gasp, he fell down the last foot and landed jarringly on the beach. The wind pushed his hood off of his head and tugged at his hair. The strong scent of salt, seaweed, and brine filled his nose. The sand felt incredibly foreign under his shoes, and he kicked some of it up. Particles blew into his eyes and he furiously rubbed them away.

He took a few steps back and looked up, eyes still burning. High, high above, on the slope of the mountain, he could just make out the shape of his castle and village. They seemed so very far off now, shrouded in fog. He turned around and watched the waves lap against the shore. He couldn't really say that he was impressed. It was just the same view from his window, but closer.

Yuri heard a shout, and he jolted. Quickly, his head whipped around in the direction of the noise. In the distance, he could make out two figures struggling with what looked like a creature of some sort. He started moving towards them, but got the feeling that something was dreadfully wrong and broke out into a sprint. His feet met resistance in the drifts of sand, but upon reaching the damp sand he was able to quicken his progress.

Yuri could now see what was transpiring, and nausea rolled over him. He snarled as he saw two men pinning down a merman, who was thrashing wildly. His thick tail smacked against the ground. His muscles bulged as he attempted to escape, but he was overpowered. The gills on his neck heaved rapidly as he fought to breathe.

One of the men held a cloth up to the mer's mouth, and although he shook his head to try and dislodge it, he was forced to take a breath through his mouth and his body went limp.

One of the poachers (Yuri was now sure of their identity) grabbed the merman by his long, dark hair and lifted him up. They were going to slice off the mer's fins and hair to sell on the black market, then dump him back into the sea to die. Anger boiled inside of Yuri, but he waited for the right moment to attack. The man procured a knife, gleaming cruelly in the moonlight, and held it up to the creature's hair. Yuri couldn't hold back and do nothing any longer. With a scream of rage, he drew his shashka and charged forward. How fucking dare they?

He caught the first man by surprise, the one that was preparing a sack to place the stolen goods in. He was swiftly stabbed in the back, the blade coming out the other side of his chest. With a yell of agony, he collapsed. The spurting blood appeared black under the dim lunar light.

Yuri felt sick to his stomach, but if he gave up then he would surely perish. The other man smirked and narrowed his eyes.Fury coursing through his blood, Yuri lunged forward. The man quickly stood, holding up the slack merman as a shield. The large tail dragged like dead weight.

Yuri stopped, the point of his sabre mere inches from the mer's chest. He tried again, aiming for the poacher's head, but was simply blocked once more. The man laughed at him, light eyes glittering.

Yuri tried to shove down his emotions in order to focus, but it proved harder than he had expected. His opponent had drawn his blade, an épée bearing an extravagant handle, and was brandishing it--a challenge. Something in Yuri's head clicked, and he leapt back into action. While the other man was larger, his movements weren't as fast (especially carrying the bulky merman). If Yuri could just be agile enough...

The swords clanged together as the man blocked, sparks flying. Suddenly, Yuri whirled around. His shashka landed in the poacher's side with a dull thud. A scream cut through the air, and the released merman slumped to the ground. Hastily, Yuri moved the slippery creature behind him so that he could protect him. The poacher sneered, clutching his fresh wound.

Yuri wanted to dispatch him. Oh, how he wanted to. Instead, he decided to exhibit some mercy and chivalry.

"Leave!" he commanded, using a royal tone. "And never come back!"

The man roared and made a final, desperate move to attack Yuri. He was promptly impaled, his eyes rolling back as the life drained out of them. Yuri jerked his blade out of the corpse and turned away from it, breathing heavily. There was no grass to wipe his weapon on, so he dried the blood with his cloak. He sheathed his sword and then dropped to his knees to examine the mer.

The merman didn't appear to have any external injuries besides a few minor abrasions. The air got caught in Yuri's trachea. The mer was the most beautiful thing that he had ever beheld. His hair spilled around him like ink, sand sticking to the wet strands. Yuri tucked it behind his pointed ear.

He seemed almost like a marble statue. The bridge of his nose was long, straight, and broad, not at all like the ones belonging to the people of Yuri's nation. His skin was darker than Yuri's, resembling the tan of a Mongol. His jawline was so sharp and angled that Yuri found himself reaching out to brush his fingertips along it. When he realized what he was doing, he pulled back like he'd touched a hot iron.

Gills slowly opened and closed on the merman's neck, and his torso gave way to a massive tail that seemed like some type of shark's. He was grappling to inhale and exhale, his throat making ragged, shaking sounds.

Yuri guessed that the merman's weak human lungs wouldn't last much longer, so he began to haul him towards the water. It was no easy task, considering how much the mer weighed, and how lean Yuri was. Eventually the merman's head and upper body were submerged in the surf. Yuri was calf-deep in frigid waves, his cloak and boots soaking wet. His teeth had started chattering the moment he'd entered.

Stiffly, Yuri pulled the merman as far in as he could before the icy water became unbearable. He dashed out, footsteps splashing noisily. Not about to leave the merman there, alone and helpless, he ducked behind a rock to wait for another mer to come looking.

Hours passed, and Yuri had to move to the shelter of other boulders as the tide came in. As the sky began to lighten, he heard a shriek. Heart pounding, he peeked out from behind the craggy, barnacle-encrusted rock to see a head peeking out of the water.

It was a mermaid, and she must have noticed the unconscious merman. Her crystal-blue eyes were widened in alarm, petal-pink lips parted. Long, scarlet hair adorned with pearls pooled around her. She dipped under the surface, and Yuri squinted to see what was happening.

It appeared, from her blurry shape under the churning water, that she had wrapped her arms around the other mer's waist and was tugging him away and into the depths. Occasionally, her red and white-spotted fins slipped over the waves.

And just like that, the two of them were gone.

Yuri relaxed a bit, knowing that the merman was in safe, webbed hands. He trudged for hours up the steep slopes, exhausted and water-logged. He would surely have blisters. His flower crown, though in rough shape, was still perched on his head.

The next morning, a fisherman stumbled upon the bodies of two notorious poachers.


	3. Chapter 3

To his frustration, Yuri couldn't seem to forget the merman. It seemed that he was constantly floating through the back of his head, tormenting him with his dark eyes and quiet expression.

Yuri's eating habits grew even poorer than before. He became unhealthily frail and thin, hardly able to swallow a bite because of his nausea. He couldn't seem to get any sleep either, and when he did manage to, it was restless and shallow.

His grandfather soon took notice of the purple shadows under Yuri's eyes, the way that he hardly touched his meals, and how he rarely went to the effort of changing his clothes. Concerned, Nikolai inquired what Yuri had experienced on the beach that had affected him so. Yuri just muttered that it was mostly uneventful, and that he was perfectly fine.

He could tell that Nikolai didn't buy it, but was relieved that the matter wasn't pressed any further. As much as he disliked lying to his grandfather, what was he supposed to say? That he felt ill because he couldn't stop thinking about a captivating man he had rescued; one that wasn't even the same species as himself?

No. Instead, he told nobody about the events of that night. Having the mer's face ingrained into his mind was bad enough, and he didn't want to relive the final moments of the two men that he had killed. Their deaths weighed on his consciousness like lead. Although Yuri tried to remind himself that they would have left the merman to die and would have probably killed him too, he couldn't quell the guilt he harbored in his belly. Sometimes, he had horrific nightmares in which he relived the incident, crimson blood dripping down his sword and pooling in the sand.

Even spending time in his garden barely gave him any solace. It had always been a sanctuary where he could relax, but now he found it impossible to gain some peace of mind. Yuri felt too sick to tend to his flowers properly, and his garden soon fell into ruin in spite of his best efforts. Instead of reaching toward the heavens, his weed-choked plants drooped and wilted. The rose vines overran the arch they were climbing up, twisting their tangled tendrils tightly around it. The pathway filled in with tall, sharp grass.

Suddenly, the place that Yuri had loved most in the whole world had become foreign.

Eventually, Nikolai convinced his grandson to allow a physician to examine him. Yuri begrudgingly accepted, if only to make his grandfather happy. The doctor called it "a most peculiar case." He diagnosed Yuri with malnourishment and sleep-deprivation; however, both of those were merely symptoms. The cause remained a mystery to everyone besides Yuri himself. Although he was partially in denial, he knew exactly what the problem was. The physician suggested that Yuri should try and get some rest. 'Wow, thanks,' Yuri thought bitterly.

Once the doctor had left, Yuri could hear him speaking to grandfather in hushed tones. He didn't catch everything that they said, but he did make out the words "die soon" and "nothing I can do."

Yuri knew that he was correct, and the reality of the situation was terrifying. He kept having dizzy spells, clinging to banisters to keep from toppling over. Something needed to be done, but he had no idea what or how. Once again, he found himself utterly helpless.

Every single day, he made his way down to the beach in hopes of seeing the merman; he never did. There weren't even tell-tale abnormal splashes or the glisten of scales. He began to worry that the mer hadn't survived. The thought was driving him crazy, gnawing away at him.

Yuri began desperately poring over the volumes in the royal library in search of a solution. Out of more than a hundred dusty tomes, he found nothing. Sometimes he'd think that he had found something that would work, but, on closer inspection, found it completely useless.

Eventually, Yuri started going over Viktor's old books. Most of them had silly little doodles on the margins of the worn, dog-eared pages. Viktor had drawn mostly fluffy animals, flowers, and a young man who kept appearing in the newer volumes. Yuri snarled in disgust. That was the person who had stolen Viktor from him, he was sure of it. However, his expression softly melted into a smile as he fondly recalled his dear cousin.

In a book of Greek poetry that was in particularly bad shape (it appeared that it had been dropped into the river on multiple occasions and then set on fire), he spotted something that caught his attention. There was a note scribbled on the corner of a page that read, "Go to Yakov for a spell!" The words were underlined and circled darkly, as if Viktor was trying not to forget. Yuri wondered when the note had been written, but he had no way of knowing. He couldn't help but feel curious about who this Yakov character was. Perhaps a sorcerer? Yuri narrowed his eyes in thought. Perhaps this "Yakov" could procure some sort of solution for him? Possibly, he could make him forget about the merman entirely… At this point, Yuri was willing to do pretty much anything. If he didn't, death wasn't far off.

The note left no indication as to how to contact Yakov or where he lived, but Yuri had a feeling that he knew a person that could provide additional information. Viktor's close friend, Christophe.

As it turned out, it didn't take long to find him. Christophe was in the kitchen as usual, flirting with the cook. When Yuri walked in, he looked up with a casual smile gracing his face.

"Look at you, up and about," he remarked. Yuri was not amused.

"Could I--" He swallowed angrily. "Could I speak to you for a moment? In private?"

"Of course." Chris grinned and winked at him.

Yuri's brow furrowed, and he growled under his breath.

"No need to make that face, I'm coming." Christophe stood up from the kitchen stool he had been reclining on. He placed his hand on the chef's cheek and kissed him before whispering something in a low voice into his ear. From the shade of red that the cook turned, Yuri guessed that it had been disgustingly obscene. Chris blew another kiss in farewell before following Yuri out into the passageway.

"Shouldn't you be cleaning up horse shit or something?" Yuri grumbled.

"Ah, I already did that. Thought I'd take a break and help with dinner."

"Yeah, I'm sure that your assistance was invaluable."

"Most definitely." They arrived at a tucked-away alcove and came to a halt. "What was it that you needed me for?" Chris fluttered his dark eyelashes teasingly.

"I had a question about Viktor," Yuri mumbled.

"What was that?" Chris cupped a hand (which was a lot smoother than one would expect to belong to a stable-boy) around his ear. Yuri repeated himself at a regular volume, but Chris repeated his request.

Agitation growing, Yuri yelled the same words at him a third time, voice reverberating off of the empty stone walls.

"Ooh!" Christophe responded, faux-enlightened.

Yuri glared at him, trying to reign in his frustration.

"Enough of this!" he hissed. "Do you know a man by the name of Yakov?"

Chris' olive-green eyes went wide for a second, before he caught himself.

"Why do you want to know?" he asked, cool and reserved.

Yuri was silent, unsure of how much he was willing to divulge.

"I need help," he finally replied, intentionally vague. Christophe snorted.

"That much is obvious," he told him, blunt but not malicious. He folded his arms and looked Yuri's thin body up and down. Yuri colored.

"Hey!" He reminded himself to stay calm, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. "Just tell me where he is," he demanded, teeth gritted together.

"You need to give me a genuine reason first, darling." Chris' tone had a facade of lightness but was hard as iron underneath.

"Fine!" Yuri snapped. He glowered at the ground, hair covering half of his face. He recounted his tale with deliberate vagueness, glossing over the fact that he had killed two men and how his heart hammered away whenever he thought about the merman. Yuri hadn't wanted to divulge the story to Christophe, but he feared that it was his only option to get more information on Yakov.

"Hm…" Christophe put his index finger to his lips, a gesture that painfully reminded Yuri of Viktor. He used to do the exact same thing, and the memory of it made his heart ache. "Well, it seems to me that you're… infatuated." The last word sensually dripped from Chris' lips like golden honey. Annoying golden honey.

"That's ridiculous!" Yuri exclaimed, furious. He had barely even mentioned the merman, and Chris was making absurd assumptions.

"Hm." Chris smiled knowingly, and Yuri wanted to punch him.

"You said that you'd give me Yakov's address!" he blurted out, changing the subject.

Chris sighed. "Very well. I've never actually been there myself." His bun slipped, and he undid it. He tossed his deep brown hair, and action that called to mind the manes of the horses that he cared for. He stuck the pin in his mouth, and started to twist it up again. "All I know is that he lives somewhere in the cliffs by the sea. Hard to get there unless the tide is most of the way out," he explained through the pin, distracted. The information was not the best, but it would have to do. Christophe finished fiddling with his hair and waited there, looking at Yuri expectantly.

"What?" Yuri grumbled, irritated.

Chris cleared his throat politely.

"Oh. Thank you."

Chris flashed his teeth and turned around.

"You're welcome!" he called as he walked away. Yuri was left alone, leaning against the wall and pondering a plan of action. He decided that he should probably go and scout around the cliffs to see if he could find the sorcerer's cave.


	4. Chapter 4

Later that week, Yuri trekked down to the shore once again. The journey seemed to be getting more strenuous every time he made it, and he had to lean against the rock face when he got to the beach in order to steady his spinning vision. The cliffs were angled so that the farther down the beach from where Yuri was standing, the higher the waves crashed at the shore. When the tide was all the way in, the far end of the precipice was half-way submerged underwater. At the moment, however, the tide was all the way out. A section of gravelly sand skirted the base of the bluffs.

He picked his way along it, watching out for rocks plummeting down the cliffs from above. He went quite a long way, but couldn't see any variations in the craggy wall. Just when he was about to give up, he noticed an out-of-place, massive boulder. It seemed like it had been strategically placed there, not like it had fallen down. It was nestled underneath an overhang. Mustering every ounce of strength that he had, Yuri pulled it aside. It was certainly not an easy task, considering how frail he had become. Inch by inch the huge stone shifted, making a grating sound against the sand. Finally it was out of the way, and the yawning cave that it had been blocking was revealed.

Quietly, Yuri ventured in. He had to duck down to clear the ceiling, he himself being nearly six feet tall. He squinted in the darkness, and could make out a steep set of stairs that curved around a corner and out of sight. Beyond it, he could see the flicker of firelight. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this was the right place.

Yuri stepped back into the daylight and pushed the rock back in front of the entrance. He would return, once he got an opportunity to leave the palace for a long time without notice. Heart pounding in his rib cage (from fear or excitement, he wasn't sure), he started the arduous hike back up to the castle.

The perfect night to go and see Yakov presented itself. That evening, a ball was to be hosted at the palace. Almost everyone in the entire noble court was to be present, and the party would be the perfect distraction for Yuri to slip away unnoticed. The servants began setting up before dawn, arranging ostentatious flower displays to drape over feasting tables. A rainbow of gossamer silk banners stretched over the ballroom ceiling, shimmering in the firelight. All of the doorknobs and hinges shone, and the marble floor had been polished until it was as reflective as a mirror. Huge torches rested in silver sconces along the hallways, illuminating the massive paintings hanging on the walls.

They were mostly portraits of the royal Plisetsky family, of whom only Nikolai and Yuri remained. Most of the people featured in the pictures looked rather grumpy. Yuri often wondered if that was simply due to the fact that they'd had to remain still for hours or if it was a hereditary trait.

Guests began to trickle in, wearing their finest clothing. One by one, they approached the thrones where Yuri and his grandfather were sitting. They would bow or curtsy, and both royals would dip their heads respectfully. Yuri began to develop a sharp ache in his stiff neck.

Finally, all of the company had been acknowledged.

The music began, and hired dancers emerged through the grand main doors to entertain the guests. They wore vivid red accents, a symbol of beauty.

Nikolai leaned in to Yuri. "Why don't you go and sit closer to see better?" His worried, tired eyes were pleading. Yuri knew that his grandfather was desperate to see him happy. For his sake, Yuri would move to watch with the audience. Once the music stopped, he reluctantly stood and went down the steps. Each movement felt jarring on his skull. Everyone looked up to stare at the strange boy who didn't resemble a proper prince with his freckles and frail body. He shot a few glares into the crowd and plopped down onto a velvet chair beside the dance floor.

While the dancing was beautiful, Yuri wasn't really impressed. He had seen this very routine on many occasions, and it was no different this time. The dance began slowly, with the men and women whirling around each other. They waved their fine scarves and kicked their feet.

Without warning, his head began to spin and his vision became blurry. He felt as if he was about to faint. The bright colors of the performers' clothing blended together in a nauseating display. The end of the song couldn't come soon enough. When it eventually did, he slipped through the crowd and staggered up to his grandfather. He kept stumbling over his own feet, and black spots dotted his sight.

Once he got back to Nikolai, he whispered that he wasn't feeling well and was going to retire for the night. His grandfather gently kissed his forehead and took his hand. Yuri squeezed the rough, familiar hand weakly, then left through a less-trafficked exit. Thankfully, he didn't garner much attention, and managed to struggle up all of the flights of stairs to his room. Once he got there, he collapsed onto his bed.

Somehow, Yuri was going to have to gather up enough strength to make the journey down to the beach. Fearful of falling asleep and not waking up in time, he was careful not to let his eyes drift closed for too long. He had to wait until midnight, because that would leave him a large enough window to travel down to the shore before the tide started coming back in.

Yuri found that petting his kitty was a welcome distraction. Potya nuzzled into him and was a warm, comforting weight on his chest.

When the clock struck a quarter to twelve, he rose. It took a concentrated effort, considering that his limbs felt like lead. Potya mrowed in disgruntlement when he was forced to move. Yuri picked him up and pressed a kiss into his fur. Setting him down, he began to take off his elaborate outfit and put on something more practical. He pulled on leather boots with good traction, and wrapped his warmest cloak around his shoulders.

Hands shaking, Yuri scrawled a note and left it folded on his bed. It said to take care of his cat if he didn't come back, and a goodbye and apology to his grandfather if he never was to see him again. He described his strife, giving details about what had happened that fateful night and how he was still haunted.

'Never forget how dearly I love you, Grandfather. -Yuratchka.'

Before he left the room, Yuri took a moment to look around it. The place that he had grown up. His home. Because he was unsure if he would ever see it again, he tried to memorize every detail. Taking in a deep breath, he snugly put on his fur cap and braced himself for whatever lied ahead of him.


End file.
